


Violating The Prime Directive

by DJIN7, Reddwarfer



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJIN7/pseuds/DJIN7, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddwarfer/pseuds/Reddwarfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not supposed to be seen. They're not supposed to interfere or advance against orders...They're not supposed to keep score.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violating The Prime Directive

**Author's Note:**

> Dystopian AU earthside, like "Vegas", but 100% more crazy... Written for McShep Match and the prompt: killing time. Many thanks to our beta-readers: busaikko and dacro.

Rodney rubbed the instep of his foot along John's calf and bounced excitedly as the familiar, tinny music cued the late night television news program. "Anything to say to me?"

With a shrug, John shifted closer, letting their thighs press more firmly together. The nightly news was Rodney's favorite part of the day. John's favorite part was the hour leading up to it. "Not really."

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Rodney bit out moodily, before perking up at the sight of his handiwork flashing across the screen. "First mention," he crowed as he did a little sideways shimmy in bed. "What does that makefour times in a row? Admit it! I'm better than you."

"I admit nothing," John replied with a roll of his eyes. "Your _work_ is all flash and bang. No substance."

Rodney rolled over to his side, licking at the skin of John's neck. "Mmmm, these grapes taste especially sour tonight. My favorite."

Without meaning to, John huffed out a laugh. Whether at the ticklish feel of Rodney's breath against his ear or the absurdity of the argument, he wasn't quite sure. "I think maybe," John said as he slid his hands down Rodney's back, "a raising of the stakes is in order."

Rodney, who always perked up at the mere hint of a challenge, did so then, in more than one way. "You are so _on_. Prepare to fail yet again as you bask in my glorious... gloriousness."

"That's not even a word," John said, between nips on Rodney's lower lip. And that was the last word on the topic for the rest of the night.

  


* * *

John had been sitting at the kitchen table for twenty minutes when Rodney finally stumbled in, still sleep rumpled, his eyes slits. He made his way to the coffee maker by instinct and habit alone.

"We're sharing the front page," John said casually as Rodney took his first sip. "But it seems my story continues on both the second and third page. Unlike yours." He made a show of flipping the pages, and continued, "Which, yes, gets another pretty picture, but barely an eighth of the word count mine does."

"Serial Killer Identified; Found Dead In Compromising Position - Another lesson from State Educators?" John read aloud, his tone smug. Rodney's jobs usually ended up getting reported as 'suspicious fires' or 'computer viruses', which drove him absolutely nuts. The only thing that assuaged Rodney's bruised ego were the number of conspiracy theory websites speculating on Rodney's work, which were depressingly more accurate than the news media.

"Hmph." Rodney plopped down on the chair across from John, cradling his mug. "I suppose they felt the need to blather on about the oh-so-mysterious _'psychotic grim reaper of retribution'_ image you've got going. Never mind my sheer intelligence coupled with the expansive scientific knowledge required to do what I do."

John got up to refill his own cup, taking a detour to Rodney's side of the table to plop a kiss down on his frowning lips. "Mmm... you're right; sour grapes do taste delicious," John said after he came up for air. "Want more?" he asked, indicating Rodney's now-empty mug. Caught between arousal and annoyance, Rodney simply nodded and handed it over to John.

"I have to go into the main office today before I do the J Street job, so I might be a little late getting home." Rodney looked desolately at the box of doughnuts, which sat unopened on the counter, but didn't make a move for them. John made a note to remember to toss them when he finally got around to purging the house of any banned items after the upsetting news from Rodney's recent physical.

"Why's that?" John asked, partly out of curiosity, but mainly as a means of distracting Rodney from the food he was no longer allowed to eat. If John remembered correctly, the J Street job was an empty office building, used for clandestine meetings and such. Fairly routine and no special notes on the dossier. Rodney shouldn't need to go into the office for that.

Rodney scowled at his half-empty coffee cup, poked glumly at the bowl of fruit and yogurt John had placed in front of him, and said, "Our latest 'numbers monkey' has a new system for requisitions. I need to rewrite and re-submit all of my reimbursement forms and justify my supply requests. Someone with my intellect shouldn't be forced to do these menial tasks; I should have people for this!" John wished he'd discovered the trick to blocking out Rodney when he went on rants like these, but he hadn't. Not yet. "I should have people to do this for _my_ people." Rodney finished with a pout.

"Yes, Rodney, you're so mistreated. It's a travesty." John rolled his eyes as he gathered their now-empty cups and put them in the dishwasher.

He turned around to see Rodney glaring at him, eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me."

"I mock because I care," John replied easily, squeezing Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney perked up a little. "You care? So, how much would you say you cared? Feel free to be as detailed as possible. I won't mind."

"I didn't say 'care'," John lied. "I said 'can'. I said I mock because I _can_."

"Liar," Rodney said, getting to his feet. He hooked an arm around John's waist, and kissed his temple. "I mock because I can, too."

John felt his face heat a little, so he kissed Rodney long and deep enough in retaliation that he was hard , then said, a bit breathlessly, "Time for work?"

"Huh?" Rodney said, flushed and completely distracted, pleasing John on a visceral level. "Oh, you are going to pay for that. Anyhow, I have just enough time to do the whiteboard before I have to go."

They both headed into their office, the largest room in the house, complete with two desks, a large leather sofa and an executive table with chairs. The walls couldn't be seen through the overflowing bookcases lined up from one end of the room to the other, save for the spot behind the desks where there was a large whiteboard, doodled over with columns of numbers.

"Okay. Including yesterday, we both fared equally well with the evening news, but I get bonus points for first mention and duration of segment. So... that's twenty-three points for me but only seventeen points for you. However, you," Rodney added in a grudging tone, "get eleven points for newspaper word count. I only get five for the picture, because of the laughably short article. Morons." Rodney scribbled the numbers down in the columns marked _MRM_ and _JS_ under the overall heading 'Prime Directive'. Their point system was tacked on the wall next to the board. It changed each round. This time, they were using Fibonacci Primes - first to 1597, without going over, would win. Then he turned back to John and said, "I was in and out of the job in less than thirty minutes, didn't have any resistance, but there may have been one eyewitness. So, thirteen points for me. You?"

"Less than twenty minutes for me, no resistance, no witnesses," John answered smugly. "So, that's seventeen points for me."

"Nuh-uh," Rodney said, "you only get thirteen because you got hurt. You think I didn't notice that very large bruise on your side last night? Nothing gets by me. And I know _I_ didn't do it."

"Fine," John conceded, with only a slight blush. There may not have been any resistance, but… "Only thirteen points for injuring myself during egress. Even with that, I still win."

"This week's battle, perhaps, but not the war," Rodney replied smugly as he finished scoring on the whiteboard with a flourish. "I'm still in the lead by ten points!"

"For now," John said. In hindsight, he wished he hadn't.

* * *

John woke with a start, heart racing in his chest, looking frantically over to the other side of the bed to find it empty. He didn't remember falling asleep while waiting for Rodney. His panic kicked up a notch as he glanced at the alarm clock, realizing that he'd been asleep for hours already and still, no Rodney. Chiding himself for falling asleep on his watch, he threw the covers off and sat up quickly.

Suddenly, a familiar noise from the kitchen made him unclench and slow his heart - relief giving way to annoyance as he recalled his anxiety waiting for Rodney earlier in the evening. Rodney, who was apparently whole and sound, and who'd better have explanations and apologies waiting for John.

"Work was a pain," Rodney griped as soon as John came in, as he haphazardly pulled items out of the refrigerator and slammed them on the counter. John watched him, still feeling that anxious, worried feeling he had. He stayed silent, knowing that venting his issues wasn't going to help anyone right now.

Rodney steadfastly cooked a breakfast filled with banned foods while neither of them spoke, and John kept staring at Rodney's back, waiting; whether it was for an explanation or for his own mouth to form words to ask, he wasn't sure.

John stared at the bacon, eggs, and sausage Rodney had prepared and wondered how many bad work days Rodney's arteries could take. Finally, he swallowed over the lump in his throat, and managed to say, lightly, "I hope you didn't blow up the wrong target."

Whipping his head around, Rodney glared at him. "You said you'd never bring that up again," Rodney accused.

" _You_ said I'd never find another incendiary device in bed after the last disaster. Life's a disappointment all around, I guess."

"That's not fair. I said I was sorry!" Rodney frowned unhappily, playing along, and John suddenly felt inexplicably angry at Rodney having worried him for nothing.

With a tight shrug, John made a move to steal a strip of bacon when he noticed Rodney flinching as he moved out of John's path. Now that Rodney was facing him, John could see that he had sweat beading on his pale forehead, and after glancing up and down, John saw some blood spotting the ratty t-shirt Rodney was wearing.

"Hey," John said, anger evaporating into worry in seconds. "What's wrong? What happened? Let me take a look." Before Rodney could argue, John reined him in and gently lifted his shirt, where he found a poorly applied field dressing plastered ineffectually over a small but ugly looking wound on Rodney's lower back.

"Why didn't you go to Carson to get treated?" John asked, anger coming back a little, though his hand stayed gentle as he probed the area. "Do you want to get infected?"

"I just wanted to come home," Rodney said, plaintively. "This day sucked beyond the telling."

"It didn't," John replied, and added quickly to forestall interruptions, "because you're going to be telling me all of it."

Rodney sighed as he relaxed slightly against the counter, and John moved his shirt back down, resolving to look closer when they got upstairs and nearer to their first aid kit.

"I cased the building thoroughly, so imagine how surprised I was to find someone there who shouldn't have been as I was placing the device! Then he stabbed me! Unbelievable. Then, after I subdued him and set the bomb, I had to think fast to get out of there because there were suddenly people all over the place who shouldn't have been it's not like that area of town is well traveled by the business-suit types, right? Then, I had to hide out in a nearby hovel until the fire suppression team showed up! Thankfully, they caused enough commotion to cover my escape and then I had to take the longest way home possible in a city this size just to avoid dealing with more crap," Rodney said in one long breath, before adding, almost as an afterthought. "And this hurts. A lot."

"Yet, you weren't going to get treated," John stated, flatly. Eyebrow raised, he led Rodney, who had totally forgotten about his heart-attack-breakfast-after-midnight feast, back to their bedroom. Once he got Rodney settled on the bed, he grabbed the kit from the bathroom. "For a genius, that was incredibly stupid of you."

"And let those witch doctors have another chance to do their ineffectual voodoo on me? No thank you."

John knew, if Rodney could have done it without a jolt of pain, he'd be crossing his arms.

After cleaning Rodney's wound, he applied a bandage that didn't look like it was created by a five year old. Practice made his movements quick and efficient.

Rodney settled back on the bed looking glum, and sighed. "I guess that means I'm not going to win this round."

"You really think I care about points right now?" John asked, more sharply than he intended (not quite done being angry, it seemed). He crawled in the bed next to Rodney, tired and weary. Without adrenaline coursing through his system, the events of yesterday coupled with his bad, barely-there nap of the last few hours; he was bone-tired.

Rodney gave him a small half-smile, turning on his side towards him with careful movements. He reached over to John, who let himself be pulled in for a kiss.

"I don't know if you're up for this," John said, pulling away after a few delightful seconds.

Pressing closer, Rodney didn't waste words explaining how wrong he was. Instead, he began nibbling at the sensitive spot just under John's ear as he worked his hand into John's pants.

"Ah, mmm, okay," John breathed out, "But we'll do it my way, or you're gonna make your injury worse."

He pulled back enough to reach for the lube in their bedside table and moved slowly forward, lifting Rodney's leg gently over his. He reached his arm around to hold Rodney close to him, carefully avoiding the wound, until their chests and their cocks were rubbing against each other. After pouring a bit of lube into his palm, he gripped them both in his hand, and while the pain seemed to diminish Rodney's erection slightly, he was still hard enough for this.

John kissed him again, jacking them both long and slow, waiting for the pleasure to build steadily in their veins. Rodney had an iron grip on his arm, pulling away from the kiss only to breathe heavily against his lips.

"John." Quiet, desperate, and then Rodney came, spilling over him. When Rodney moved again, it was to run his fingers down the length of John's torso, until they came to rest alongside his own. They moved together, stroking him until he came, not nearly long enough later.

"Sleep?" Rodney asked, not moving even an inch away. He dabbed at the mess between them with a piece of their sheet, pushing it away when he was done.

Nodding, John curled a little closer. "Sleep."

  


* * *

  
"Who do you think we'll get this time? Capitalists? Polygamists? Left-wing hippies?" Rodney tapped the top of his bishop as he pondered the board. It had taken over a week for his wound to heal enough to get back to business. They'd been granted a week's worth of family leave. Rodney had hacked into the State's server and created a marriage license that was useful a great deal of the time, with the added bonus of not having had to dress up or send invites to family members.

"I don't know about you," John said, rolling his eyes at the way Rodney tried to pretend that any move he made wouldn't result in check in ten, "but I'm going to be getting that serial case. Guess the State can't stand the competition."

With a nod of agreement, Rodney moved his piece right where John wanted it. He didn't bother commenting on the dire situation Rodney had backed himself up into; they always played their games out. "True. They do tend to get you to do their dirty work."

"And you?" John stole Rodney's last pawn with his knight.

Rodney bounced a little. "Well, it can't be that building on Pine - they've been using that place to print those ridiculous neon pink fliers - not yet, anyhow. My money's on the headquarters of 'Things Must Change', that stupid group sending those obnoxious spam emails, begging for petition signatures. If anyone deserved a Darwin award..."

"You seem pretty certain," John said lightly, knowing Rodney would take the bait.

"Ha! So do you!" Rodney, distracted, moved his rook without paying much attention. "Want to bet on who's right?"

"And if we're both right?" John smirked at the board, and moved his knight again.

Faltering a minute, Rodney thought a moment before answering. "I guess that'd cancel everything out. Then we'd have to go double or nothing on the evening news."

"Sounds good to me. But, if I win - _when_ I win, I want a blowjob up on the Ferris wheel at the fair," John said, satisfied. "Oh, and by the way, check and mate."

"Hey - hey, what?" Rodney sputtered, frowning deeply at the board. "You must have cheated somehow. I had this game in the bag."

"You keep telling yourself that. And you'll be saying it again after I win tonight," John replied, smirking again.

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "I'll bet you I won't."

"And I think I'll take that bet, too."

***

John watched his target in infrared from his perch on the decommissioned railway trestle.

Once he'd been given his case file - another serial killer - by the State, it had only taken him about forty-eight hours to establish the pattern; once done, he'd set about his reconnaissance. The fact that he was staring at his assignment from the first possible location given in his profile was certainly incredible odds. About seven hundred and sixty two to one. Give or take. _You gotta be good to be lucky_ , he sing-songed to himself.

Truthfully, John's good mood had less to do with his success thus far in his assignment, and more about the outstanding afternoon he'd had at the fair with Rodney. On the Ferris wheel. John grinned, remembering how Rodney had bitched almost as a much - and as deftly - as he'd sucked while John did everything he could to last. Just thinking about it was making his somewhat precarious position even more so as his pants began to tighten.

John just shook it off as began to pack up his gear quietly, then lowered himself stealthily to the ground below, knowing his target had settled in for the night in the abandoned Yardmaster's hut, surrounded by the treasures he'd taken from his victims. Unlike his target, John would not be content with just a trophy; he took too much pride in his work. Not that he'd ever tell Rodney that.

John began humming again as he sauntered towards the structure in the darkened rail yard, already planning something involving a handcar, an automated air horn, and possibly some tar and feathers. Leaving the hands - and fingerprints, of course - intact.

* * *

  
"I am smarter, so much smarter, than that asshole," Rodney said, fingers going a mile a minute on his keyboard. "Whole magnitudes smarter."

John wondered whether he should take the bait or let Rodney get annoyed with him until he caved.

A few clicks, and then Rodney pulled a flash drive out from the side of his laptop. "And this," Rodney said, wiggling the drive, "is proof." He moved over to the wall, removed the framed poster of Jack Blaster, handsome, rogue hero of the Space Mutiny Trilogy (their favorite movies), and opened the wall safe to stash the flash drive inside.

"The quality of your enthusiasm toward my ever-growing genius leaves something to be desired." Rodney crossed his arms and glared at John.

"Let me guess. You've located yet another small Resistance band that you know for a fact Ellis knows nothing about." John looked to the ceiling, as if praying for patience. Sometimes, he wished Rodney had other ways of killing time between jobs. This revenge hobby of his got annoying.

"Well, yes," Rodney said, mood deflating. "This one's called LFoD - Live Free or Die. Very original, hah - since there're at least four groups with that name, if my memory serves. I'll call them LF4 in my notes. If any of these idiots looked three feet to the left, they'd realize they might actually have the numbers to be effective."

"Until you destroyed their infrastructure and blew up their bases of operation," John added fairly.

Rodney pointed a finger at him with a grin. "Exactly. Let's hope they never perfect mind control through television or radio waves, because then I'd be out of a job. And hope that Ellis never hires someone other than that utter moron Kavanagh to hunt and peck for him, because then I would be out of someone to mock."

"I honestly don't get why they bother," John said, wondering why anyone would work so hard to change nothing when a healthy dose of ambivalence could cure you of anything.

"Of course, they bother," Rodney said, rolling his eyes. "Every single time we get a job, we give the radicals further justification to hate the government. And as you know, every single government in the history of forever has had people who disagree with how it's run. Now, take away the ability to complain about them by unrestricted means, and humans will naturally gather to rally against the "great injustice" of it all because they'd rather rage incompetently against the machine instead of working the system like we do." Rodney paused. "It's not like the government hires those fanatical _Staties_ to do our job. The last thing the State actually wants is independent decisions from nut jobs. The radicals should be thankful for that."

"I guess," John said, shrugging. He never gave much thought to it, not even after he was hired. John was dispatched after psychotic criminals more often than not. It was Rodney who generally worked the Resistance jobs; less killing, more cyber warfare and property destruction.

"It doesn't really matter, anyway," Rodney said, waving the entire conversation away. "The way things are going now, they'll never accomplish anything, and we'll have work until we're forced into retirement."

"You're forgetting the whole bit where if our employers discover what you know and didn't tell, you'll be executed. Aside from that, it doesn't matter," John said, and not without some bitter sarcasm. Any discussion of Rodney handing over his information to Ellis was met with instant refusal, vehemently, so much so that John knew it wasn't just because the man had embarrassed Rodney. John sometimes thought it might have something to do with his sister's death. John never asked and Rodney wasn't telling.

"Like that'd happen," Rodney scoffed. "Don't worry so much. We need to get to work. I think I heard the fax machine while we were wasting time talking about pointless things."

  


* * *

  
John didn't usually accompany Rodney on his jobs. Not since training, anyhow. Rodney had the unfortunate tendency to narrate when he had an audience, even when the job required a level of discretion. Yet something about this particular job had made John's inner radar ping, and he insinuated himself along.

Rodney had discovered the location of the Resistance printing press, but only four days before the State found out. Normally, John was hesitant to give Rodney credit lest his head get so big he couldn't walk through the front door, but it was rare for him not to be at least one month ahead of Ellis' squad of information monkeys. There was no way Kavanagh found the location in such a short time. Something was up.

"I don't see why you're doing this," Rodney said, for the fifth time, as they walked down the street. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself and doing this job. As well you know."

John ignored him. "Maybe we should get Chinese for dinner."

"Very funny. You can't sidetrack me that easily with the talk of food, y'know. Also - you remember that needle-bearing Scottish bastard said no to that much MSG."

"Steve's Subs, then? Their food isn't too atrocious."

Rodney glared at him. "Not the point."

"Which is?" John was hoping he'd annoy Rodney into distraction, but he doubted it'd work.

"The point is, _Sheppard_ , that this is all highly unusual. I never come along to evaluate _your_ work methods. If this is some ploy to usurp my points lead, I regret to inform you that it's a doomed endeavor. I happen to work quite well under pressure, and even if you're attempting to resurrect the goddamned talking clock you liked to employ during my dreadful training days, it won't do anything to deter me from doing my job and beating you. Like I always do."

"Not always," John argued for the sake of it, not because his pride was stung, just a little.

Rodney smirked and bounced a bit as he walked. "Close enough that it doesn't matter."

"That's what you like to think," John countered, pleased his attempt to distract Rodney worked. Getting him to brag by insulting his genius worked like a charm every single time.

And if everything went according to plan, and if John's danger radar stopped tingling, he might just treat Rodney to that Chinese take-out after all.

  


* * *

"Rodney!" John yelled, while he dodged behind a crate. "Get down!"

"I am, I am!" Rodney yelled back, and just like that, they were pinned down. John cursed. It had been a goddamned trap. He _knew_ it! They were outnumbered, cornered, and running low on ammo. Rodney hadn't even had a chance to plant his explosive, so there was no way to cause a diversion, either. He grit his teeth. "Rodney, when I say run, you run, okay?"

"Oh, no. No, you don't!" Rodney answered with a hiss. "You do _not_ get to go down shooting to save me. Imbecile." John grinned, feeling the love. Rodney went on, "We both go down together, or not at all."

John took a deep breath. So be it. Just as he got poised to leap up, pistol at the ready, a clear, authoritative female voice called out, "Educators. We are Freedom for Halling. Give yourself up and you will not be harmed."

John heard Rodney groan. "Rodney?" he called out, concerned.

"Oh, my god. _Freedom for Halling_. Tricked by martyrs in a resistance cell run by hipsters and the unemployable." John could hear Rodney bang his head back against the crate. He rolled his eyes and yelled back, "What's in it for us? What's to stop us from shooting our way out of here and taking some of you with us?"

There was a moment of silence, and John heard a man with a deep, gruff voice say, "Can I take them out, now? They won't listen." The woman gave an audible sigh. John could relate." As you wish, Ronon."

John was about to make a smartass crack, when he suddenly heard a noise very close to him. He turned his head and saw a very large and scary man with large and scary hair smirking down at him with a stunner in his hand.

"Shit," was all he could say before everything went black.

* * *

  
"We are, in all likelihood, going to die. Soon. And in this dank, windowless shithole," Rodney groused, looking morose.

John didn't really know what to say to that as Rodney had sussed out the situation accurately, albeit melodramatically. He should have paid more attention to his radar. "Yep."

They'd been in this "dank, windowless shithole" of a cell for at least two hours. There was a wide pallet on the floor, a toilet and sink in the opposite corner, and a dim light coming from a panel on the ceiling. He'd been in worse places, though, and they weren't hurt - surprising due to the stun and grab nature of their capture - so he was feeling pretty philosophical about it.

"That's all you can say? We're about to die, probably painfully and there might even be torture, and all you can say is 'yep'? Not, 'dear god, what have I done to deserve this?' or, 'there's so much I wanted to do with my life, so much unfinished'?"

John gave Rodney a small grin. "Nope." Rodney just glared at him. "How about you?" John asked, hoping to distract him while John tried to figure out a way out of their predicament.

Rodney appeared momentarily stymied by the rejoinder, but then regained his steam and held a finger in front of him. "I always wanted to beat the high score in Giovanni Brothers."

John stared at him. "You hadn't already?"

"Sadly, I never did. I played the game for exactly three and a half days, and then Jeannie threw it in the toilet. My parents refused to replace it."

"What else?"

Quiet for a moment, Rodney looked around the room with a shifty expression. His cheeks went pink and he looked somewhat bashful. "Okay, I sort of always wanted to get a pet name. You know, a personal nickname that only my..." Rodney twirled his hand around, "called me."

John couldn't help but chuckle. "A pet name?"

"Yes, well," Rodney sniped, now agitated. "In highly stressful situations, often times people randomly blurt out - "

"It's fine, Rodney," John said, trying to stem the flow of defensive babble. "So, what sort of pet name did you have in mind?"

Sighing, Rodney seemed to debate a minute before answering, "It's not really something you choose for yourself. But I always thought I'd get something like 'stud muffin'."

"Calling someone a stud muffin is always a joke. Even when it isn't," John replied, trying not to laugh.

"Fine," Rodney bit out, testily. Then he deflated a little as he looked at the floor. "It was a stupid little thing. Nothing's ever going to come from it, and it's pointless - since the only relationship I'd planned on being in is with you."

That hit John in the gut, and he took in the stress settling around Rodney's face and the tense set of his shoulders, and sighed. It wasn't as if either of them wanted to be in this place, and this would have never come up otherwise.

"Once," John confessed, not really wanting to admit this, but feeling like he had to. "When I was out of town and was really, really drunk, I thought - " he paused, his face burning with the truth of it, then he bit the rest out quickly, "I thought to myself that I couldn't wait to get back home to my hot Rod."

The persistent burn had spread to the tips of his ears, but it was worth the bright, delighted grin that spread across Rodney's face.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really. Okay, let's talk about something else. _Anything_ else."

"Prime/Not Prime?" Rodney asked heartily.

"You're on," John agreed, ignoring how these games usually ended in a fight. Especially since it was rather unlikely this fight would be followed by make up sex, given their circumstances.

But they had time to kill and the charming man with the stun gun who'd tossed them into the cell mentioned they'd be there until the following morning, at the very least, when their leader would "discuss" business with them.

  


* * *

It was actually closer to the afternoon when that same _charming_ man - "Name's Ronon, now move" - dragged them each up by an arm and forced them to march toward another room in the building where a small group of people had assembled. Doing a quick threat assessment, John felt a small amount of relief when he realized most of the group were no older than college students. In fact, they probably were. He downgraded his internal Threat-O-Meter, but only slightly, because of that big fucker who'd just dragged them in here wasn't looking too happy.

"Just shoot 'em," called out a voice from the crowd, followed by muffled debate.

John's Threat-O-Meter went up a notch. College kids, but _mean_.

Someone else yelled out, "Make them give us the names of their employers."

"No, if we torture or kill for information, we'll be no better than the State," another person said, exasperated.

"I've got no great love for our esteemed government, employers or no, but you guys are going about this whole thing ass-backwards." Rodney looked around the room with disdain. John agreed, but was smart enough not to say as much.

"Look," John said, interjecting before Rodney could talk them into the business end of those nasty looking guns. "What he's trying to say is, we've got nothing against _you_ , personally. We're just doing our jobs."

John recognized the woman who stepped forward as Teyla Emmagen. Her file said she was an formidable, ass-kicking woman, newly elected leader of the Resistance cell 'Freedom for Halling', no doubt referring to that hippie singer who got on the bad side of the State before his and Rodney's time. Right now she looked unimpressed. "And this job of yours, does it not require you to believe in the purpose you serve?"

John snorted at that. "Not really, no."

Rodney interjected, "Ha! Like they'd want some extremist doing this job. That'd be lovely - can you imagine? Next thing you know, they'd start doing 'favors' for their bosses, righting wrongs no one but them could see. It'd be anarchy. No one in power wants that. There'd be reports of people being killed just for wearing purple on Unification Day or chewing their food with a non-regulation fork in a public place. No. You see, the State picks Educators who are amoral and sociopathic at worst, apathetic or ambivalent at best. They want people whose motives are easy to determine, or at least easily controlled."

"And which would you be, Rodney?" John drawled, amused. Rodney snickered.

"I do not understand, then, why you persist in your jobs if you have no great allegiance to those you serve," Teyla asked, brow furrowing, ignoring their childish banter.

"Okay," Rodney said, impatience coloring his tone. "Let's say John and I _lay down our swords_ , so to speak. What do you think would happen, then? Do you really believe those we've been ordered to kill would be any less dead at this point?" He waved his hands about in a way that John knew meant 'I'm surrounded by inferior idiots who shouldn't be allowed to live'. Then Rodney went on, his voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm, "Do you think our bosses would just stop and say, 'well, if _Rodney_ won't kill them, the whole thing's a wash', then cancel the program and let everyone go on their merry way? No! The only thing that'd change is that we'd be dead, too."

"At least you'd have made a stand for something important." Teyla wasn't budging. John was impressed. Not many people could withstand Rodney's condescending diatribes; until this very moment, John had thought he and Jeannie had been the only ones.

"Is that the whole of your sales pitch? _'You, too, can experience a pointless death, changing nothing except your estate lawyer's monthly dividend.'_ Do you put it on your pink recruitment fliers, too? My life - my _genius_ \- is worth more than a meaningless, symbolic death for a lost cause. No wonder nothing's come from any of these resistance groups. You're all morons."

"Yeah?" Ronon barked out, gruff. "So what's your great plan, then?"

Rodney just sneered at him. John twitched. Of course, Rodney just continued on, blithely, "You need to have access to more information, first of all. Know how to control the system, the money, the flow of information. And, if you know certain key codes for certain key people, like I happen to know, you can do something like this..." He elbowed his way over to a nearby computer.

John's heart was in his throat, seeing the guns instantly come up and point at Rodney, who wasn't even paying attention.

Teyla waved her hand at them, though, and they simultaneously lowered the muzzles, but the readiness never left anyone's face. Rodney was already pounding away at the keyboard, oblivious and determined, and then he turned the screen toward Teyla after a moment, standing up straight and bouncing on his feet, gleefully bragging, "See? There, now you have access to the highest level government information, bank accounts, and the surveillance server mainframe."

John watched the way Teyla and Ronon's eyes widened. He also gave some thought to stopping Rodney, or at least trying to point out that Rodney had essentially armed the Resistance with all the ammunition they would need. But then he decided he didn't really care; he just waited to see what would happen. He always did enjoy watching Rodney wield his intellect like a dangerous weapon.

And Rodney was on a roll. "Secondly, you're all too scattered. There are sixteen groups within five miles of where we are now, alone. Never mind in the rest of the city."

Teyla stared at Rodney for a moment and then asked in a careful, measured tone, "You know the existence of all these groups, their locations?"

Rodney looked surprised at the question. "Of course I do. It's not as if it was hard, with the idiots you all have covering your tracks."

"It is evident that you have not shared this information with your superiors, or we would not be here at all. May I inquire as to why?" Teyla seemed very intent on discovering the motivation behind Rodney's actions, or lack thereof.

"Spite," John answered for him, not wanting to know what Rodney would say of his own volition. "Mainly."

Rodney just glared at him, his thunder stolen.

"Spite? I do not understand."

"Well," John replied slowly. "It all started when Commander Ellis told Rodney to mind his own business about the Surveillance Section..."

"No," Rodney interrupted. "What he actually said, after I tried to enlighten his ignorant ass, was, 'Don't pretend you know how to do my job. Focus on your own work. Otherwise, I might find it high time to reassign you,'. So, I decided to prove that I _could_ do his job better than him, _as well as_ my own job - you see, he has this cretin straight from primordial ooze who calls himself Kavanagh heading his Cyber Tracking Division. Completely useless. Ellis was an idiot to turn down my offer to replace this twerp. So now, knowing all that I do, every time I have to see either of their stupid faces, I get the satisfaction of knowing that I know more about their own Section than Ellis _and_ Kavanagh put together _ever_ will." Rodney finished, lip curling contentedly.

Teyla just looked amused. "And, you never made your knowledge known to anyone else, except of course your partner," Teyla said, rhetorically. Then she gave Rodney a genuine smile, and many of the others followed suit.

Then suddenly, John got it. They were all gazing at Rodney with worshipful, _grateful_ faces.

Rodney must have noticed, too, because he scowled, waving his arms in agitation. "No. No. Stop whatever ridiculous, romantic notion you have about us. I'm not a good man - we're - not good men."

John knew, as did Rodney, that pretending they were doing anything out of solidarity or sympathy for the Resistance might get them out of this alive. But Rodney refused to lie - was belligerently honest, as a matter of fact, and it sort of made John love him, just a little.

Rodney wasn't finished, either. "I didn't keep this information from them for anyone's benefit but mine. Trust me: I kept it to myself because I'm an arrogant, petty man, who likes knowing that I'm far better and far, far smarter than a man who embarrassed me publicly."

"Regardless of your motivations," said Teyla, "it does not change the fact of what you did or, precisely, did not do."

"Whatever, I'm not what you're looking for. We've got too much blood on our hands, anyhow."

"Who do you think, after so many years, has clean hands?"

Refusing to reply, Rodney folded his arm across his chest and frowned at the floor.

John wanted to pat Rodney on the back or maybe kiss him, but he sucked at giving comfort in all ways except in the form of blowjobs, which weren't possible at this moment. So, instead, he said to Rodney with a provocative grin, "You realize now, with all that, you've become the default head of the Resistance, now, right?"

"Wait, what?" Rodney's head shot up, his earlier irritation forgotten with the utter shock of John's words.

Smirking, John nodded toward the computer. "Well, you basically handed them control of the government servers, solved their structural problems, financed them, and you practically offered to give them the locations of all those who'd support them. Only thing you need now is a secret hand signal and a jaunty hat."

Rodney sputtered for a moment before, "Asshole... I can't even... John, fuck you."

"I'm definitely ahead in points now," John pointed out, just to see Rodney turn an alarming shade of red before he barked out a laugh. "Only if we decide to give points for being an ass," Rodney snickered.

They had to put up with an eternity of listening to everyone talk over each other about their next moves; how they were going to best utilize the information and power Rodney had inadvertently handed to them. There were debates, arguments, and far too many impassioned speeches.

"So, do you think Princess Malia and Stompie over there would notice if we left?" Rodney asked in what he thought was a whisper.

John snickered, looking over and Ronon and Teyla, who really did look remarkably like Jack Blaster's crew. Ronon and Teyla glared at them both, obviously not having missed a word of what Rodney just said. Apparently, it wasn't the first time they'd heard it.

John and Rodney decided to sit down on the vaguely uncomfortable chairs while everyone else bustled about, trying to point out their own very important ideas louder than anyone else could promote theirs. Rodney sighed audibly and started mumbling about needing to eat soon before he fainted.

John was bored, and he wished he could find a nice cot to take a nap on. He'd forgotten how annoying politics were. He'd spent his life in the pursuit of the obliteration of red tape; his primary goal had been to free himself from the shackles of rules and regulations, to soar above them. He privately thought that he and Rodney had been coming close to that.

Until now.

After what felt like eons later, the room finally emptied of all the blowhards, gasbags, and idealists, leaving only Teyla and scary, scary Ronon behind.

They pulled out a couple of chairs out and sat down across from John and Rodney, wearing identical expressions. John identified these as "You will tell us all you know, now" faces.

"Now that we're alone, I think it is time we discussed things a little further. I admit that I'm still uncertain as to who you to are... no, not as to your legal identities, but deeper than that. Who you are as people... and it is my job to know people," Teyla explained, a look of expectation settling on her face.

Rodney raised an eyebrow, about to his open his mouth, when Ronon cut in, "She wants to know whether we should shoot you both."

"I thought that particular endgame was set in stone already. I really don't appreciate being jerked around about my death," Rodney said. "I had already come to terms with it, even if I wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect. And now you're telling me that I might, in fact, live. However, I'm sure you'll list some sort of ridiculous set of demands for us to fulfill, and once we do, the guns will be brought out and we'll be executed at dawn with no warning, no last meal, no final cigarette, nothing. I have hypoglycemia, you know. Cruel and unusual punishment."

"You don't even smoke, Rodney," John pointed out. If this was going to be his last day, he wanted to spend it bickering with Rodney. He couldn't help but grin at the look of dismay on Rodney's face when Teyla handed him a granola bar, even though he ripped it open and began eating it right away.

"This is what I mean," Teyla said, amused. "You are in a dire situation, yet neither of you are exhibiting any true signs of distress, and you continue to bait and argue with one another as if you were sitting in your workplace lunchroom. You also claim to not truly care about the State or its goals and mandates. How, then, did you end up here?"

  


* * *

  
John hadn't seen his father since the day he accepted the offer from the State to join the ranks of their Educators (because they taught _lessons_ , see? So clever, the State.) He'd mainly done it just to enjoy the expression of pure, helpless fury on his father's face.

John wondered, every now and then, about the rest of his family. Whether they followed his work - or even recognized it, cut out newspaper clippings and pasted them in a scrapbook like Jeannie used to for Rodney. He wondered if Kaleb, Jeannie's husband, ever wondered why his wife had collected random news items about acts of destruction and mayhem that seemingly had no connection. Maybe Jeannie told him what the connection was. He could imagine her, all proud: "My brother is not in R&D, he's actually an Educator - and these are all beautiful examples of his extraordinary work." Hah.

John wondered, too, if his family knew that he was gay and living with - married to - a man, or if they just pretended John never existed. He didn't much care, as they pretty much didn't exist to him.

But the few times John did recall them, it was usually when he was feeling smug and he was reminded of that intensely pleasurable moment when he'd well and truly pissed his father off; the best part being his father's inability to do anything, because one didn't fight the _State_.

It had been John's crowning achievement in his early education in irreverence. A skill he'd fine-tuned over the years, which had been extremely handy when he'd met Rodney for the first time.

If anyone needed to be brought down a peg or two, it had been Rodney McKay when he was first recruited into the Educators.

John had taken to him _immediately_.

"Sheppard!" Caldwell had barked into the gym, where John had been winding down from a work out. "Office, now. We need your help with a recruit." John's groan had been mostly silent, not enough for Bates not to notice and snicker, but enough for Caldwell to miss. Then he stalked off, not even waiting for John's acknowledgment.

"I guess that was an order," John murmured to himself. But he'd hurried through a shower, changed, and had gone down to Section 8 towards Caldwell's office. As he'd come around the corner, he'd heard raised voices.

"Listen, you half-witted _Statie_ , this is not an option! When Carter sent me here from the Agency, it wasn't for a full-time position, it was for the one job, then I get to go back home. I'm not staying one more minute in this rat-infested hole of a city you call home; my services - my genius - is far too important to the Agency. They'd never stand for it."

John's eyebrows rose higher and higher the more he heard. Who _was_ this guy?

"Listen, McKay, Sam told me to offer you a position. She said you'd been underused at the Agency - " Caldwell stated calmly, but was interrupted.

"WHAT? She said what?" The new guy sounded baffled. "That's not possible - she'd never want to lose my talents in R&D to the _Educators_ , who are no better than a bunch of monkeys with government password access and psychotic tendencies. Oh, my god. Also? Danger! I'm too valuable! And I can't publish if I'm an Educator! "

John didn't think that was fair; although the personal identities of Educators were strictly classified, they could still publish and mingle with others, they just couldn't say who they worked for. The danger thing _was_ fair, though. There was an inherent hazard in this job, no matter the Section - it was not very common for people to reach the sort of seniority John had managed.

"I'm afraid that is the case, Mr. McKay. But, serendipity being what it is, we do have an opening in our Infiltration and Cipher Section, and your particular skills would be a welcome addition to our team," Caldwell finished, grinding the words out, his earlier calm fracturing. John figured it was time he stepped in.

"Sir." John stepped into the office with a smirk, quickly noting the recruit - older than most, about John's age - pacing and muttering to himself. Caldwell looked relieved to see John, which really should have set off the alarm bells.

"John Sheppard, meet Rodney McKay - our new resident expert in code breaking and cyber infiltration. Rodney also has a special skill set in explosives and chemical engineering. For this reason we'd like to use him for on-site assignments," Caldwell continued over McKay's squawked distress at that news, "and we'd like you to help train him in those areas.

"John is the head of our Tactical SSD team, and will be training you for ops," Caldwell finished.

"Why, hallo there, Rodney," John drawled slowly, on purpose. The other man glared at him. John grinned. "Educator Monkey John Sheppard at your service," he said, holding out his hand.

Rodney just rolled his eyes, and grabbed John's hand to shake it. Rodney's grip was surprisingly strong, and John saw a challenge in the man's blue eyes and slanted mouth.

He'd always loved a good challenge. "Welcome to the team, McKay. Here at Planet Monkey, we like our mayhem while doing good for the People of the State. And we also have really big guns."

"Hardy har," grumped McKay, who had crossed his arms, now, standing in the middle of Caldwell's office, chin tilting up. "I'm sure you all use up your government funding swinging around the jungle gym in between oppressing the people and enforcing order. They keep bananas in the dispensing machines on every floor, no doubt." John honked out a laugh, resisting the urge to scratch under his arms. Barely. Oh, yes, this was going to be _fun_.

This time, John thought he heard Caldwell stifle a groan. He smiled. Where was Bates when you needed him?

  


* * *

  
John appeared to ponder Teyla's question. But really, he was casing the exits. "Not much to tell. Hated my dad. Joined the ranks. Met Rodney. Got captured and ended up here." Teyla gave him a vaguely disapproving look, but he refused to feel guilty; John barely even talked to Rodney about how he felt, and he loved Rodney more than he loved anyone. Even when they started living together, John had waited until his landlord needed to fumigate, used that as an excuse to stay with Rodney for a week, and just never left. And the marriage license was hacked when he pointed out to Rodney they got better tax rates when they were filing together as a couple.

"Rodney," Teyla said, and John tried not to cringe. Anytime Rodney was given leave to speak his mind, there was always a chance of it ending badly. "I get the sense there is more to you not sharing the information on the Resistance than you let on. I will give you my word that nothing discussed in this room is being taped and everything said will remain between us."

Scoffing, Rodney folded his arms defensively across his chest. "You honestly think I'd believe anything coming from you? Fine, I'll tell you. It scarcely matters, now, anyway. When I was still working in R&D, my sister and I were - well, we weren't exactly close, but we were okay. Like any two siblings raised to compete with each other for everything from college money to affection to hollow acts of gratitude from our useless parents. She and I shared a love for academics and computers, and she was really very good." Rodney stopped for a moment, as if to admit that hurt him in some way. Then he huffed and went on, "Even after I was forced to leave R&D, she supported me, I supported her. Then one day, she met that idiot bleeding-heart, Kaleb. They got married, and then he got her all involved in his political bullshit, got her caught up in trouble, and turned her against me."

Rodney paused, and looked hamstrung for a moment before he continued, "Then there was a car accident, and they both died. But two years later, I was doing a job when I noticed her handiwork. At first, I could have sworn I was seeing things that weren't there. But, it was just so _her_ that I couldn't let go the feeling that it had to be, as ridiculous as it seemed. I chased down the clues, more convinced than ever it had to be her, but then she would disappear again. I've found a trace here and there over the years, but every time I got close, she got further away. She was always like that, even as a kid. She always beat me at hide and seek.

"So, now you know. I know everything about the Resistance because I'm looking for Jeannie. And I never turn over anything to the State because I don't trust anyone but myself to take care of her in the event someone else gets assigned to the case, and I'm not involved to make sure nothing would happen to her. Happy?"

John was surprised at Rodney's outburst, and the revelation about Jeannie. Mostly, though, he felt hurt that Rodney had never told him about this discovery; how he was chasing down ghosts in the machine moreso than gloating about Ellis. Not that John had a leg to stand on when it came to being candid. Also, Rodney probably didn't tell him out of fear John would hound him to stop, and John would have done exactly that.

Teyla nodded as if this wasn't so much news, but a confirmation of a previously held theory. She also seemed pleased with Rodney's honesty, unlike most people on the receiving end of it. Teyla was impressing John more and more each minute.

"We need to discuss what it is we are to do with the two of you. It is my personal belief that eliminating either one of you would be the same as eliminating both of you. I also believe that it would be an incredible waste of potential resources. Therefore, although I am not alone in my reservations, I have come to the conclusion that it would be to all of our benefits if you two would just join our cause."

"Seriously?" John said, straightening in his chair. He glanced over to Rodney, wondering what he was thinking about all this. Rodney was scowling.

"Someone must have dropped you on your head as a child," Rodney said scathingly, barely flinching when Ronon pulled a gun on him.

Teyla tapped Ronon's thigh once and the weapon was lowered again. "I am quite serious. However, this is not a decision you can make lightly. We will escort you to your new room now and leave you there for the next two days to decide."

They took a different turn as they left, going down a different hall when they left the central area. It was a lot less 'shithole' and a little more 'cheap motel'. Their new room had a bed with an actual frame, a separate bathroom, and bars on the tiny window, about seven feet off the floor.

"I will also leave you with this," Teyla said, placing a U-Pad tablet on a small table. "Thank you for your assistance and time."

"Just one question," John said, before she could leave. She turned and raised her eyebrow in question. "If we turn down your offer, what then?"

"Then, we will administer a dose of a chemical that alters short-term memory and deposit you near your home." She bowed her head regally then walked out of the room.

Ronon waited until Teyla was out of earshot and said, "She forgot the part where, after she releases you, I shoot you." Then he left.

"Why does this not surprise me?" Rodney said, slumping down on the mattress.

"Don't worry, Rodney." John finished his perimeter bug check. "You know what they say, if you can't beat 'em…"

"Please, John," Rodney said dismissively. "We're top level _Educators_ , for god's sake. They want to kill us. Well, that big guy sure does, anyway." John could only nod in agreement.

John joined Rodney on the bed, and they lapsed into silence, each likely wondering how to jump start the conversation they obviously needed to have. Rodney hadn't immediately grabbed the U-Pad to see what was on it, which was strange enough, but that he wasn't saying anything was making John decidedly nervous.

"Are you gonna take a look," John asked after a few minutes, nodding vaguely in the direction of the table. "Or do you want me to?"

"Can't we just ignore it?" Rodney said, a bit pleadingly, and John realized that Rodney was far more stressed that he'd been showing. " I... I just want to go home, John." It was the quiet desperation that got John to his feet and scooping up the U-Pad off the table. Flicking at it, he saw a video loaded to play.

"Come on, Rodney," John said, getting back on the bed as he pushed at Rodney's shoulder until he scooted forward enough for John to get in behind him. He curled one arm around Rodney's waist, and holding the computer tablet where they both could see, he propped his chin on Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney pressed back against him, said, "Here goes nothing," and pressed play.

John wasn't as surprised as he thought he'd be to see Jeannie's face staring up at them. From the lack of reaction, he guessed Rodney wasn't either.

She looked good, John thought, happy - if a bit irritated. A familiar look. Must run in the family, he thought fondly. Her hair was longer than he remembered, but the smile was the same. It also ran in the family.

"Hey, dumbass. So, you managed to do something I never did: get caught."

"Hey," Rodney protested.

"Though, to be fair, you did come close a few times. Remind me to smack you next time I see you. I hated having to move so much."

John grinned. They were so much alike, even if they both would deny it forever.

"You're probably furious with me. I had a good reason, though, for doing what I did." It was then that the camera panned down enough to show a little girl, no more than eighteen months old.

"Meet Madison, your niece," Jeannie said, smiling down at her daughter. "You also have a nephew, Evan, but he's in school. I really wanted them to have more freedom to do what they want, Mer. Anyhow, I don't have much time, so I'll get to the point. If you're watching this, then Teyla must feel there's hope for you. You could do so much if you just joined us. And, John, too, if he's watching. I hope you make the right choice. I miss you. And before you start arguing with this video... " Jeannie quipped with a smirk, pausing.

John heard Rodney's mouth close with a pop. He even thought he heard Rodney _physically_ bite his tongue.

"Remember, one thing... I'm still better than you. In every way. If you want to be able to argue with me, you know what to do. Bye, Mer!" Jeannie panned the camera down once more to focus on the little girl. "Say bye to Uncle Mer and Uncle John, Madison." Madison giggled and waved her hands wildly, then the video cut out.

John blinked a little, and he felt Rodney heave a sigh. They'd both missed Jeannie a little more than either'd admit.

Then Rodney began to rant. "Did you hear her? The nerve! I cannot believe _she_ thinks she's better than me. I can't wait to give her a piece of my mind. A detailed report, even. With bullet-points! And, did you see that? She spawned! I - we - have a nephew and niece!"

"So, we're staying, I take it?" John asked, lightly, turning off the computer and tossing it over to the bedside table. He placed a kiss on Rodney's cheek.

"Of course. I can't let her get away with such slander against my good name. She is so going to get it. Then I'll prove to everyone here that I can do anything she can, but better, faster, and with less ego." John had to snort at that. "It's amazing she can fit on the screen, her head's so big."

"I could say something about pots and kettles, but I'll refrain." John kissed Rodney again, this time on the side of his neck.

Rodney was geared up to argue again, when he suddenly deflated against John, and turned his head awkwardly to get eye contact. "I... um, may have... in my exuberance... maybe forgotten to ask what you want to do?"

Shrugging, John rubbed his hand under Rodney's shirt, on his belly. "I'm with you, buddy. Whatever you decide."

"Even if I decide to grow long hair, put on color-tinted sunglasses, wear sandals with socks, and follow Teyla and her merry bunch of Halling lovers?"

"Even then." John turned Rodney's face with his hand and gave him a slow kiss.

"Okay, I guess we should let them know," Rodney said, but not actually making any effort to move away.

"True enough." John paused. "But just for the record, I think that if Teyla ever saw our _Prime Directive_ , she wouldn't wait for Ronon to kill us; she'd do it herself. I can't imagine after all that talk of beliefs and causes that she'd find our little friendly competition to keep ourselves motivated amusing. I doubt it would go over well."

Rodney chuckled. "No, I don't imagine it would please her. I wonder if they'll let us go back home to pack, or if they'd give us a new whiteboard. But," he raised his finger at John with a grin, "I'd bet Stompie would appreciate it. Maybe even want to join in the fun, not that he'd get the math."

John shrugged as he looked at Rodney, then gazed around their crappy room, and realized he had everything he needed right here, and time to kill.

"I'll take that bet," he said, as he leaned in for a kiss.

And he did.

  
\- The End  



End file.
